“I’ll try.” I bowed my head to hide a smile. “But I won’t promise.”
An hour ago, I would have believed nothing good could come of this horrific day. Now, my perfect sister was flawed after all, and I was on my hill with Fynn, high above the dark worries intent on plaguing me.
As I watched the sun set, gilding the edges of Fynn’s damp curls, I noticed him staring hard at a spot above my left ear. I raised a hand to my hair. “What is it? Is there a bee?” My carelessness had gotten me stung once too often.
“There’s no bee.”
I waited for him to say more, but he continued to stare. “What is it, then?”
“The sun in your hair,” he murmured, frowning slightly, “turns it pink, like a seashell. I’ve never seen anything so perfect.”
My cheeks flamed red. “Your wounds must be making you delusional.” With a glance at the fiery sky, I added, “We should be going. Mam doesn’t like any of us staying out past dark anymore.”
Fynn laced his fingers through mine and I followed him toward the darkening forest. Despite the nearness of the ocean, the wind suddenly smelled clean and sweet, without a hint of brine.
The trees welcomed us into their shadows, reminding me of the things I needed to collect for Morag. “Let me know if you see any agrimony, would you? Tiny yellow flowers. But only if they’re close to the path. We really should be home.”
Fynn grimaced. “Is that for supper?”
“No! I need to find it for Morag.” I smiled. “You must have heard me mention my work before. You likely had a job yourself. Or maybe where you’re from, sleeping on other people’s sofas is a respectable profession?”
Fynn’s laughter sent warmth up my spine. “I’m not familiar with work that involves gathering flowers.”
“I’m apprenticed to a witch. At least that’s what most folk around here would say. Really, I’m helping a cranky old woman with her errands. She’s been a recluse since before I was born, and with good reason. You saw the way some people were behaving at the market.” I scanned the sides of the path for yellow petals as we hurried along. “They fear her without knowing her. And now me too, apparently.”
“She’d better treat you well for all the trouble she’s causing you.”
“She’s not as terrifying as she first seemed.” I pushed aside an overgrown thorn bush to peer beneath it. “I’ve only been helping her a few weeks, though, and it’s quite a job keeping her cottage clean. I’m starting to suspect her only magic is making huge messes just to give me something to do.”
The woods grew darker. A prickling between my shoulders urged me to quicken my steps, dragging Fynn along.
“Why so rushed?” He tugged on my hand, trying to slow my pace.
I turned, shivering slightly. “This isn’t a good spot to linger. There are … things … out here after dark I’d rather not meet.”
Fynn gazed off into the trees, then back to me, and looked puzzled. “What things?” He stood a little taller. “Whatever they are, I’m not afraid.” He nudged my shoulder. “I have the Isle’s best witch by my side, after all.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. When he said witch, it wasn’t the same way the woman in the market square did. From his lips, it sounded like a badge of honor. How could he have such confidence in a girl he hardly knew? I didn’t understand it. But I was certain of this much: I more than liked it.
“Mooinjer veggey—the Little Fellas—roam these parts at night on the way to their revels,” I whispered at last. “Or so Mam says. I’ve never seen them, though, and I’ve been out here past dark a time or two.”
“What are Little Fellas?”
“You’ve never heard of them? They’re like ghosts, but they come from a place all their own. That’s why some call them the ‘Middle World Men.’ Our mams leave cakes out for them each night.”
A hint of a smile shadowed the corners of Fynn’s mouth. “Even yours?”
“Of course. Haven’t you noticed the bowl of milk and slice of bonnag near the front door?”
“No.” Fynn’s smile grew, stretching from ear to ear. “Little Fellas. What an odd notion. Do they actually eat the cakes?”
“I don’t know. There’s always a new one in the bowl by the time I wake. My grandad used to tell me how he met one of the Little Fellas when he was a lad. A wisp of a man who only stood as high as Grandad’s knee.”
Fynn grinned, peering between the trees curiously. “Whether it’s true or not, it’s an interesting story.”
“He’d gladly tell you a thousand of them. My favorite is the one about the Golden Pig. Grandad always said that if you ate a whole barley cake and a slice of bacon, and washed it down with well water, you’d see the Pig. It’s supposed to bring good fortune.”
Fynn shook his head, but a smile stretched across his face. “Where’s your grandad now? I’d like to meet him. And his lucky pig.”
“He passed away when I was nine.”
Fynn squeezed my hand. “I’m so sorry.”